“About guys happenin’ to run plumb into a murder when they was innocent of it—an’ of them bein’ accused of the murder.”
It was the mocking light in his eyes that angered her, she believed—and the knowledge that he had been aware of her suspicion before it had become half formed in her mind.
“I’m not accusing you!” she declared.
“You said it was odd that I’d be headed this way—after I’d told you all there was to tell.”
“It is!” she maintained.
“Well,” he conceded; “mebbe it’s odd. But I’m still headin’ for the Rancho Seco. Mebbe I forgot to tell you that your father said I was to go—that he made me promise to go.”
He had not mentioned that before; and the girl glanced sharply at him. He met the glance with a slow grin which had in it a quality of that subtleness she had noticed in him before. A shiver of trepidation ran over her. But she sat rigid in the saddle, determined she would not be afraid of him. For the exchange of talk between them, and his considerate manner—everything about him—had convinced her that he was much like other men—men who respect women.
“There is no evidence that father made you promise to go to the Rancho Seco.”
“There wasn’t no evidence that I made any promise to keep that man Deveny from herd-ridin’ you,” he said shortly, with a grin. “I’m sure goin’ to the Rancho Seco.”
“Suppose I should not wish it—what then?”